


Checkmate

by baridalive



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kingsman Fusion, Angst, Crime, Denial of Feelings, Found Family, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rescue Missions, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baridalive/pseuds/baridalive
Summary: Kingsman’s specialized unit “DREAM” has their base attacked, and their leader, Mark, is presumed dead. Three years later, they receive a tip that he survived. As the frantic search for him ensues behind Donghyuck’s back, they find out that Mark isn’t quite who he used to be.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Na Jaemin/Park Jisung
Comments: 54
Kudos: 308





	1. Pilot — Bye My First

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was born from [this edit](https://twitter.com/sooyoonies/status/1244408241221709825?s=20) here by the amazingly talented [@sooyoonies](https://twitter.com/sooyoonies) on twitter, and we're collaborating on this :D
> 
> anca will be making title cards/little edits for each of the chapters as i write them, so this is going to be just as visual as it is literary AND I'M SO SO EXCITED!!!!!! this is a passion project for the both of us and i'm bouncing off the walls to finally be able to share it out here because it's been rather hush hush for the past few weeks.
> 
> [HERE](https://twitter.com/sooyoonies/status/1255584551994380294?s=20) is the edit for the pilot episode of Checkmate :)

**UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, SOUTH KOREA**

**THREE YEARS AGO**

Adrenaline still runs hot through Donghyuck’s veins despite already having personally seen the day’s mission to its grand conclusion. He’s still amped up, endorphins and fire lighting every inch of him with excitement as he nears ninety miles an hour on his favorite motorcycle down an empty road. The only other sign of life this late at night out here comes in the form of the rest of his team, flanking him by a couple hundred yards to let him run free, so to speak.

He knows he’s not the only one feeling the aftereffects of the success lingering in his system, and it’s given away by the ceaseless chatter in the comms that Donghyuck can barely hear over the roar of his bike’s engine.

“... and Jisung? That move you did where you kicked the guy off the rooftop? Where did you _learn_ that?” Chenle’s giving an unnecessary recount of all the days’ events, but they all tolerate it on the grounds that it helps him wind down and he often manages to put humor in places where there wasn’t before. Despite being as young as they are, smiles and laughter don’t always come easy with a job like this.

“Baby finished his second successful mission,” Jaemin teases, and Donghyuck can almost picture his shit-eating grin hidden under the dark visor of his helmet. “Now he gets an official induction with a knight’s name and _everything!”_

“Oh shut _up_ you guys,” Jisung whines, but it’s playful — he’s happy, a bit embarrassed, but happy nonetheless.

“You’re two for two on success rate, which is better than the rest of us can say,” Jeno points out.

“Better than _most_ of us can say,” Renjun reminds lightly, and they all know who he’s referring to.

Mark, DREAM’s senior agent and unofficial leader, has a winning streak longer than any of them can recount. He was the ultimate Kingsman rookie when he started out, and has yet to fail a mission for as long as he’s been with them, whether solo or with whatever team they toss him in with. Within the half-decade span of time that Donghyuck’s known him, Mark’s never come back from a mission having completed any less than what was asked of him, which is more than anyone else in the entire agency can say for themselves, DREAM members included. Even Donghyuck’s had his fair share of failures, as few as they may be, leaving Jisung and Mark with the only clean records among them.

“That’s enough.” Mark speaks through the comms for the first time in hours, and Donghyuck’s so surprised by his voice that he slows down, speedometer only grazing seventy, allowing the rest of the team to catch up. Mark’s the only one the others even pretend to listen to, so they quiet down rather quickly. “I have some business to take care of at the moment. The rest of you will head to the rendezvous as planned for the debriefing. Arthur should be ready when you get there.”

With that, Mark revs his engine and speeds off down the road in front of Donghyuck, red tail light illuminating the dust the back wheel kicks up behind his bike. Donghyuck looks behind him to where the others are all sharing various shrugs of confusion. Mark doesn’t skip mission debriefings. _Ever._ In fact, he’s the one who more often than not has to drag them all to the meetings in the first place. Regardless of him turning a blind eye as each of them sneak out early, unable to sit through the long talk with Arthur hot off a mission, Mark’s always the one to present a summary of the case to the higher-ups. It’s just what he does, and it’s extraordinarily out of character for him to miss one.

As they approach a fork in the road, with one path leading back to downtown and the other leading to the outskirts of the city and Mark’s tail light, Donghyuck signals for the rest of them to head to the rendezvous in the heart of the city while he takes a sharp left to go follow Mark. He can only hope that they’ll take care of business while the two most senior agents are gone, but Donghyuck trusts them all with his life, so he figures they’ll be alright for one debriefing on their own.

Without another second of hesitation, he guns the engine on his motorcycle to chase down Mark, hunching down with his head closer to the handlebars and increasing his speed. He doesn’t even have to tell Mark that he’s following him because Mark already seems to know, and promptly tries to shake him off his tail. No matter what moves he makes, though, the hidden paths he goes down and the turns he drifts through, Donghyuck is always right there with him.

It’s no secret among DREAM that Donghyuck is the best when it comes to the motorcycles, which he often boasts about just to tease the rest of them, which is why he’s often found himself being cheered against when Mark breaks out one of the fancy cars from the garage simply for the sake of taking Donghyuck down a peg.

Whatever is happening right now isn’t about keeping each other’s egos in check — it’s something much bigger than that. Donghyuck knows where they’re headed anyway because it’s the same place Mark goes after tougher missions to find peace of mind. The curious thing is that the day’s mission wasn’t anywhere near the hardest ones they’ve had to complete before, nor did it go sideways in the middle and have them all scrambling to improvise a solution that would keep them all alive yet still have them complete their objective. 

Donghyuck beats Mark to the spot in the end, skidding his bike to a stop where the edge of the road meets concrete in a small bump. It’s a deserted wharf on the very outskirts of the city that used to be used for mass storage but now is no more than a dilapidated memory of a bustling shipping hub. Mark has never told Donghyuck why he likes this place so much, but it’s never been Donghyuck’s place to ask, so he doesn’t.

He takes off his helmet just as Mark rolls up to the edge of the wharf slowly behind him, engine rumbling to a stop as he yanks off his own helmet. His normally neatly styled dark hair falls limp over his forehead, damp with sweat and blood that Donghyuck can only hope isn’t his own. Mark grimaces as he swings his leg over the bike so both feet are planted on the same side, and there’s a little limp to his step as he starts to move forward. Donghyuck makes a mental note to have Jeno check it out later.

“I’m really never going to beat you on these things, am I?” Mark asks, stretching his arms out in front of him.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Donghyuck laughs, but it dies down when it hits him that this is the first time Mark has voluntarily spoken to him in weeks, out of want instead of spite or necessity. 

He lets silence fall between them, not entirely uncomfortable but it doesn’t set him at ease either. Something simmers just beneath the surface, a faint tension that keeps Donghyuck on high alert as he follows Mark down to the end of the wharf. He looks on as Mark settles himself back against the lamppost there at the end with a bulb that burned out years ago, his heel scuffing at the concrete mindlessly as he gazes out across the dark water.

Donghyuck crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he looks at Mark. Something’s bothering him, and it’s never really been Donghyuck’s style to beat around the bush.

“So what the hell is up with you today, Galahad?” Donghyuck asks, using Mark’s Kingsman-given codename to emphasize the fact that he’s a little more than ticked off at the moment.

“Gawain,” Mark addresses him sharply, turning his gaze from the river back to Donghyuck, “that’s no way to address your superior.”

“I’d talk to you like my superior if you started acting like one.” Donghyuck shrugs. “So what gives?”

Mark’s jaw twitches. He’s clearly frustrated about something, and the only way Donghyuck knows he can get him to talk about it is if he provokes it out of him, which is something he’s gotten very good at despite Mark’s normally very put-together demeanor. They’re both very used to this dance; they’ve been doing it for years and they both always know exactly which step the other is going to take next, which justifies Mark’s reply.

“I know you’re just going to try and annoy it out of me, and it’s not going to work…” He sighs, letting his rigid stance slump just a bit. “Not this time, Donghyuck.”

“Oh come _on,”_ Donghyuck damn-near whines, something that he only does around Mark because he’s the only person who will put up with it at all, even in the miniscule amount that he does. “You’ve been acting weird even before your comms shut off in the middle of the mission without warning, which _by the way,_ is something you’ve explicitly told the rest of us never to do. You’re normally quiet but this… this isn’t normal.”

“Nothing about what we do is normal,” Mark snarks back, clearly uninterested in getting along at the moment, but it’s not like Donghyuck’s really extending an olive branch here either.

It’s in Donghyuck’s nature to have a biting reply already resting on the tip of his tongue, but there’s something in Mark’s voice that makes Donghyuck hesitate. He hasn’t considered that maybe _he’s_ the one who’s blowing this out of proportion — not Mark. The sheer exhaustion that coats every syllable is tangible, making the words hanging heavy in the air between them in a way that’s unusual for Mark’s normal eloquence. It’s not something that Mark often lets himself show, and the fact that he’s displaying it so clearly to Donghyuck right now is the equivalent to showing Donghyuck the cards of his winning hand that he’s been holding to his chest for almost three months. 

It’s a very likely possibility that it’s just Mark’s insomnia acting up because of the stress of the mission and he just hasn’t slept in a couple of days. As unfortunate as it is, Mark’s inability to sleep isn’t something of an uncommon occurrence, but it’s his ability to _hide_ it that’s the real hindrance here. Donghyuck can remedy his sleeplessness in a heartbeat — all it takes is for him to crawl into Mark’s bed and wrap an arm around him for Mark to finally get some decent rest.

Now that he thinks about it, for the week or so leading up to the mission, Donghyuck’s gone downstairs in the mornings to see Mark already in one of the training rooms, keeping his skills sharp, or in the garage tinkering on new gadgets. It’s not unlikely that Mark hasn’t touched his bed in at least that long, most likely catching a bit of shut-eye slumped over his workbench or in the corner of the training room when the exhaustion finally overwhelms him.

The problem lies with Mark still, though. He never asks for it — too stubborn, too prideful to ask for Donghyuck’s help in such an intimate way, leaving it all up to the younger of them to notice the signs and do something about it. It also doesn’t help that they’ve been in somewhat of a cold war recently, never speaking to each other unless required, and even then it’s with stiff civility on Mark’s end and barely contained bitter sarcasm on Donghyuck’s.

He’d like to say that he can’t pinpoint when it started exactly, but that would be a blatant lie; he knows _exactly_ how, when, and where it started. He knows what Mark was wearing, what his face looked like when Donghyuck said those words to him, how the shine in his eyes had disappeared and how the words Mark spat back at him stung viciously, how the creeping guilt sank heavily into Donghyuck’s chest to rest just below his sternum, how Mark was so blinded by his anger that he put on Donghyuck’s shirt instead of his own before storming out of the room. He doesn’t exactly regret what he’d said, but he wishes he’d said it differently, wishes that Mark had been more understanding, wishes that things weren’t so complicated.

Donghyuck wishes a lot of things that he doesn’t tell anyone about.

He knows he’s seeing it from a very one-sided perspective though. Mark’s nothing if not rational, and he’s sure there’s a reason for him responding the way he did. It’s not Donghyuck’s place to pry, especially not with the fragile state of their relations, so he’s just been waiting for Mark to open up to him about it when he’s ready — which he hasn’t yet, but Donghyuck suspects that this is what tonight is about, at least a little bit, despite knowing how selfish that sounds.

When Mark opens his mouth again, though, it’s to broach an entirely unexpected subject.

“I almost killed Jisung today.”

Donghyuck figures his reaction of choking on his own tongue is validated given that there was absolutely no wind-up to this bombshell.

“You _what?”_

“On the mission today… when I was off in the control room with Jisung when the guards were alerted and came for us.” Mark doesn’t look at Donghyuck as he speaks, his gaze trained on the water once again, eyes slowly following the flow of the river.

“What? You both said it was handled fine and that you didn’t need backup.” Donghyuck frowns.

“That was after the fact. We didn’t mention it on the comms because we didn’t have time, _I_ didn’t have time,” Mark grits out. “They had me pinned down, but when they saw my face they backed off… I don’t know if they were scared or what but I was distracted, and I didn’t see Jisung in trouble soon enough and… I almost shot him instead of the guards because my head wasn’t on straight.”

“You said it yourself, Mark. Almost. You didn’t. Jisung’s fine,” Donghyuck reassures, but it just makes Mark clench his jaw. “Jisung is alive because you _did_ act in the end. Now get the hell out of whatever funk your head is in because it’s worrying.”

Mark cracks a smile at that, but for all the wrong reasons.

“So you _do_ worry about me,” he hums, smug. Donghyuck throws his hands up, exasperated.

“You’re impossible,” he exclaims, turning on his heel to go back to his bike. If Mark’s determined to be this stubborn, Donghyuck knows he’s not going to get through Mark’s walls tonight without him wanting to take them down first. Just as he reaches for his helmet hanging off the handle, Mark calls him back.

“Donghyuck, I—” He takes a shaky breath, cutting himself off. Donghyuck knows that he’s sucking up all of his pride to do this, which is quite an impressive feat, so he pauses but doesn’t turn around. “I just feel like I’ve failed. I’ve done everything I can to protect all of you, but it took a split second of distraction for it all to almost slip through my fingers… and _fuck_ with Sungie of all of you?” Mark’s voice catches over the name of their youngest member, and Donghyuck’s stance softens.

He leaves his helmet and turns back to Mark, approaching him slowly. Mark has the tense look about his form that tells Donghyuck that if he missteps right now, whether verbally or physically, Mark’s going to take it tenfold of what it’d normally mean to him.

“You don’t have to protect us, Mark,” he starts slowly, but his voice isn’t soft. Mark hates being coddled and Donghyuck sure as hell isn’t going to start now. “We’re all so much more capable than you think, even Jisung. Shit’s gonna happen out there that even the great Mark Lee can’t control, and that’s okay. That’s why we’ve all gone through years of training to get to be where we are now: here with you. We can handle things, _Jisung_ can handle things.”

“Maybe now.” Mark swallows hard, his brow creased and his eyes still trained out on the river. “But there are things out there that even you can’t protect yourselves from, and that’s why I’m here. The moment I fail, though, I just… I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

“Oh come _on,”_ Donghyuck snorts, crossing his arms. “There isn’t a single mission you’ve led with us that hasn’t come back successful. What’s out there that we, as a unit, as DREAM, can’t handle? We’re the best of the best, even within Kingsman. When there’s a threat, we deal with it together as a team because that’s how we work best and you know it.”

Mark’s silence stretches thin long after the echo of Donghyuck’s powerful words have faded over the wharf. It rings between them, tense and unbearably tangible. Mark’s holding something back. Donghyuck knows it. Mark knows that Donghyuck knows.

“What’s out there that’s scaring you so much?” Donghyuck’s voice drops, the fiery edge fizzling out to something softer, a vignette of comfort dancing around the curves of his words as they slip from his mouth. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

That seems to get Mark’s attention. His eyes snap over to Donghyuck and his shoulders tense up, almost imperceptible, but Donghyuck knows him too well. 

“Donghyuck, come on—” he starts, his voice a little too placating for it to be entirely authentic. 

“No. You’re not pulling your interrogator shit on me.” Donghyuck puts up a hand to stop Mark before he can try and continue. “We promised each other full transparency when we started, and that’s not stopping now that you’re nervous about something you think I can’t handle because _I can._ No secrets, no lies, not between each other. Not ever.” 

Mark’s jaw clenches, and his fingers twitch toward his hip where his gun is holstered. It’s not a sign of aggression, and Donghyuck knows he’s not in any danger with Mark — it’s more of a habit with him, always feeling more at ease when there’s a weapon within reach.

“I’m so fucking _scared,_ Donghyuck, that’s all.” Mark looks him dead in the eye, admitting something he’s only ever said once before to Donghyuck’s knowledge. It cuts deep, and the quickened heartbeat thundering in Donghyuck’s ears is the only real signal he has that he’s still breathing. “I can’t afford to lose any of you, especially not because of a mistake that I make.”

He’s deflecting and it doesn’t slip by Donghyuck. There’s something he’s still holding back, but it’s so close to the surface that if Donghyuck pushes him a little farther, he’ll tell him in no time. The thing holding him back is that just by looking at Mark, at how _exhausted_ he looks, he’s sure pushing him to that point might very well break him. Donghyuck’s made that mistake once and he’s not going to do it again. 

“Okay, okay,” Donghyuck relents. “I just… I’m worried about you and — _don’t smile at me like that Mark, you imbecile_ — we all are, when you get so deep inside your own head like this. It’s as much of our job to protect you as it is yours to protect us.”

Mark’s still wearing the remnants of a sly smirk at Donghyuck’s softer words when he finishes, and it’s a relief, some semblance of normality at long last after days, if not weeks, of Mark not quite being himself.

“Let’s head back to the others, yeah? The debriefing is happening and I need to be there—”

“Nope absolutely not.” Donghyuck shakes his head vigorously, making Mark pause.

“What?”

“The only thing you’re doing is going back home, showering to get all that blood off of you, and getting in bed. I’ll handle talking to Arthur about today and make sure the meeting runs smoothly.” Donghyuck steps forward, wrinkling his nose as he gestures at Mark’s rather grimy state. “And then when I come back, I’ll come sleep with you. Got it?”

“You’re not coming anywhere near my room unless you’ve showered too,” Mark retorts, but the smile tugging at his lips distracts from the bite of it. Donghyuck absently flicks some dried blood off the back of his hand.

“Alright, fine. I’ll shower, then come to your room so you can get some damn sleep.”

Mark nods. There’s no thank you — there never is — but the small smile on his lips grows enough for the scar running from the end of his brow to the corner of his eye to crinkle, and that’s reward enough.

“We have nothing scheduled for tomorrow, you know. No meetings, no missions, no paperwork,” Mark starts cautiously, shifting his weight. “So could we…” he trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish his thought for Donghyuck to know what he means. They stopped having breakfast together at some point during the early stages of their cold war, Donghyuck’s eating schedule shifting purposely to avoid Mark’s sporadic one, but it’s clear that they’re both craving the little part of their routine back and securely in place. Donghyuck missed it, and he’s just glad he’s not the only one, but he also isn’t letting Mark off that easy when he can’t even say the words.

A wicked grin blooms across Donghyuck’s face when he sees how bright red the tips of Mark’s ears have gone, and knows that a similar shade now decorates his cheekbones despite them being hidden in the shadows when he ducks his head. Mark doesn’t get embarrassed often, but when Donghyuck does manage to fluster him to the point of a blush, it’s always gratifying in a way Donghyuck can’t quite put into words — just to see the cool and collected demeanor of the senior agent go out the window is something so indescribably precious that Donghyuck almost feels bad for laughing. Almost.

“We can discuss it once you’ve slept. Deal?” There’s significance behind the way Donghyuck says that last word, and the way Mark’s eyes widen a bit is comforting. He still remembers, not that he’d forget. Mark never forgets, not when it comes to his members, not when it comes to Donghyuck.

Mark’s smile grows a little less bashful and a little more genuine.

“Deal.” Mark sticks out his hand, Donghyuck laughing as he takes it to shake firmly, tapping his ring finger twice on the back of Mark’s hand and feeling Mark reciprocate like they’ve always done. The laughter gets caught in Donghyuck’s throat when Mark uses their grip to pull him close, close enough for Donghyuck to count Mark’s dark lashes. 

He doesn’t have time to overthink it because Mark’s putting his hands on either side of his head, tipping it down and pressing his lips gingerly to Donghyuck’s forehead instead. He lets them linger there for a moment, and just before he pulls back his mouth moves, forming the barest of words at the crown of Donghyuck’s head that he can’t quite decipher. He doesn’t mind it much. Mark will tell him what he wants to say in his own time.

Just as Donghyuck’s eyes flutter back open, Mark’s phone rings from inside of his pocket. He throws Donghyuck an apologetic look as he removes himself from where Donghyuck’s hands had been resting on his hips — when did he do that? — to answer it.

Judging by Mark’s frown, whatever he’s hearing isn’t great news, but Donghyuck can’t tell what it is because Mark responds in another language that Donghyuck doesn’t recognize fast enough to be able to catch all of what he’s saying.

 _“... Tonight? This soon?”_

Donghyuck can’t pull what language that is off the top of his head, but he’s heard Mark speak it frequently enough to be able to pick up on a few words here and there. He tends to forget that Mark is their linguistics expert because he always speaks in their native language for comfort’s sake, doing all of his practicing and learning and brush-ups on his own. He’s fluent in about as many languages — including spoken, sign language, and even code — as Renjun has knives, and that’s saying something, and is proficient in even more. With how much of an idiot he tends to be, it’s easy to forget how smart he is. There’s a reason Mark’s as high up in the rankings as he is, and it’s not just due to his ability to kill a person twelve different ways with just his shoelaces.

Mark hangs up before Donghyuck can wax any more poetic in his mind about him, his brows pulled together and his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Who was that?” Donghyuck asks. It’s not often that Mark speaks in foreign languages when greeting a caller.

“No one important,” Mark replies a bit too quickly. “I just have some work to get done tonight.”

“I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other,” Donghyuck starts, his voice low in warning. 

“I’m not. It was Arthur. I just have some paperwork to get done regarding the day’s events, and he wants it on his desk by morning.” Mark is clearly doing his best to reassure him, convince him that everything’s fine, but Donghyuck’s not quite sold.

He purses his lips, scanning Mark’s body language, but for the first time since he was unceremoniously shoved into Mark’s life, he can’t get a read on him. That’s terrifying because it means that either Mark is so sleep deprived that he’s really not feeling much of anything, or he doesn’t _want_ Donghyuck to read him. There’s an inkling of a thought in the back of his mind that says it’s the latter of the two, that he needs to pry a bit more, but Donghyuck has no evidence to substantiate his theory. Swallowing down his apprehension, he decides not to push it and hopes that it won’t come back and bite him later.

“Fine.” Donghyuck rocks back on his heels. “But if I get back and you’re still up at your desk doing work, breakfast is out the window, got it?” He softens a bit when he notices that his sharpened tone isn’t helping Mark’s furrowed brows smooth out. “Just… don’t stay up too late, yeah? You work yourself too hard.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Duck,” Mark replies softly, taking Donghyuck’s hand to rub a careful thumb over his bruised knuckles. “Now go see the boys and make sure they haven’t made a complete mess of things with Arthur yet,” Mark chuckles, letting their fingers slip apart as Donghyuck starts to walk to his bike once more, only to be called back. “And take the long route back home, would you? Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I have a weird feeling…”

“I trust your gut more than I trust your brain some days.” Donghyuck finds it within himself to laugh, taking pride in the way Mark manages a smile at his comment. He swings a leg back over his motorcycle, putting his helmet on in the same smooth motion. “But yeah, I’ll make sure to take the back roads when we come home.”

Donghyuck doesn’t know when the base started being home to him more than his actual place in downtown — a midsize apartment that he really doesn’t use for much other than to keep up a facade and occasional birthday present storage — but he has a feeling it has to do with the boys he shares it with. 

“And Donghyuck?” Mark calls, taking a step forward. Donghyuck flips up his visor as he starts the engine.

“What’s up?”

“I’m proud of you… I’m proud of all of you… I hope you know that.”

That stops Donghyuck short. This is yet another out of character verbal display of emotion that Mark’s had within the past several days, completely unwarranted. Every time it happens, Donghyuck’s less inclined to chalk it up to exhaustion — there’s something else going on that Mark isn’t telling him about. Donghyuck’s determined to get to the bottom of it later, and maybe threats of not making breakfast tomorrow might hold some weight there, but he’ll ponder it more in the meeting.

“We’re proud of you too, Mark,” Donghyuck says slowly. “Just call if you need anything and I’ll be home as fast as I can.”

“Nevermind.” Mark shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “Forget I said anything. I’m tired. Tell Arthur he’ll have the things on his desk by noon at latest.”

“Will do.”

“See you soon, Duck,” Mark says, his voice barely carrying over the sound of Donghyuck revving the bike.

“You too, Mark.”

His conversation with Mark gives him a lot to think about on the drive into downtown, letting the familiar nightlife of the city surround him in blurs of jaywalking pedestrians and neon advertisements. Mark’s words weigh heavily on his mind and, to his great comfort, it seems he’s not the only one.

The rendezvous is the same place as always: a high end tailor’s shop in the midst of the fashion district, and Donghyuck knows his way through the shop and through the back into the elevator that spits him out three floors down where the rest of his team all seems to be as equally concerned as he is about their leader.

He steps in the room and has to motion to everyone to stay seated when they see Mark isn’t with him.

“I sent him back. He needed rest,” is the only explanation Donghyuck offers before taking Mark’s usual chair at the head of the table, turning to the slightly bemused looking hologram of Arthur, the leader of Kingsman as a whole, who awaits an explanation with a cocked eyebrow.

“So kind of you to make an appearance, Sir Gawain.”

“Sir Galahad won’t be joining us tonight. Please proceed as you were.” Donghyuck’s glad his breathing has calmed down by the time he speaks so his voice doesn’t shake. 

“Mm,” Arthur hums, turning his attention to Jeno. “Alright. Where did we leave off, Sir Bedivere?”

Everything carries on as usual, the heavy atmosphere no longer in the forefront of their minds as they do more catching up with their leader than actual debriefing. It’s nice, if even just for a while, but Donghyuck’s always painfully aware of Mark’s absence, itching for nothing more than to return home and curl up with him under his navy blue duvet and sleep until the sun is high in the sky. 

Thoughts of a tranquil morning rush out of his head at a simple exchange of words nearing the end of the meeting.

“Ah, Arthur, Mark says that he’ll have your paperwork on your desk for you by noon tomorrow.”

“Paperwork? What paperwork?” Arthur chuckles. “He’s three weeks ahead on everything I need from your branch. Make sure to thank him for me—”

“Wait,” Donghyuck cuts Arthur off. It’s not normally something he’d do, or something anyone would do given his position of power, but something dangerously close to fear sinks its claws into Donghyuck’s lungs. “So you never called Mark about paperwork this evening?”

“No.” Arthur shakes his head. “I’m afraid the last time I exchanged verbal correspondence with him was earlier in the week when we were discussing logistics of a potential contingency plan.”

“Contingency plan for _what?”_ Donghyuck stands up from his seat with such abrupt force that it shifts the entire table. 

“For the possibility of when he—” Arthur is cut off by the sound of an obnoxious English rap song. It’s Donghyuck’s ringtone for Mark, something Mark set it as for a joke and Donghyuck has just always kept, even when he got new phones over time. He barely has time to think before he’s fishing his phone out of his pocket, frantically swiping to accept the call.

“Mark?”

“You’re alright,” a soft sigh of relief greets him.

Alarm bells blare at full volume in Donghyuck’s head as things start to fall into place. How could he have been so _blind?_ The knights of Kingsman only speak to each other in another language unless absolutely necessary, but Mark had _picked up_ the call with a strained greeting in what Donghyuck now recognizes as Japanese. He hadn’t been talking to another agent at all, and Donghyuck wants to kick himself for not thinking about this earlier.

The only thing he can think of right now, though, is that he needs to get back to base. Mark’s doing something stupid. It’s not necessarily Mark that he doesn’t trust at the moment — although that trust is dwindling rapidly — it’s whoever might be coercing Mark into doing something completely idiotic in the name of protecting his team. That’s why he’d been so torn up about it earlier; wanting to keep DREAM safe despite the hazardous nature of their job is Mark’s greatest fault, and someone has figured out how to exploit it.

All of these thoughts come and go through Donghyuck’s mind in a matter of seconds, but it takes another beat for Donghyuck to actually respond, which he does as he ends the call with Arthur.

“Yeah, I’m alright… are you?” Donghyuck speaks back into the phone, fighting with every bone in his body to keep his voice steady as he wildly gestures for the boys to follow him.

“What the hell is going on, Donghyuck?” Jeno hisses quietly enough that it won’t be picked up by the phone, but Donghyuck mutes himself for a moment anyway.

“Mark’s in danger. We need to get back to base _right now.”_

Those words throw them into the most organized frenzy Donghyuck’s ever witnessed. He puts the phone back to his ear, unmuting himself as the elevator doors close around the six young Kingsman agents, all wearing the same determined expressions. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, don’t worry about me.” Mark sounds just a touch out of breath, his voice carrying a distinct note of panic that makes it sit higher on his vowels for longer, allowing his North American accent to slip through. Having a perfect accent and inflection in a language is something Mark prides himself on, and it’s what makes him so damn _good,_ but that means the moment he starts slipping, it’s a telltale sign that something serious is going down.

Donghyuck’s not the only one who catches it, though, because Jisung peers at him from his side and widens his eyes a fraction because he can hear the conversation. He mouths, _“accent?”_ and all Donghyuck can do is nod. 

“You can’t just say to not worry about you when the first words out of your mouth on a call are ‘you’re alright,’” Donghyuck jokes. Jaemin flashes him a thumbs-up as the elevator doors open back up to the main floor of the shop, letting him know that he sounds believable. “What’s up with the call? Need me to come back?”

“No!” Mark blurts before collecting himself with a deep sigh. “No, it’s alright. Don’t come back right now.”

“That sounds terribly unconvincing,” he teases, leading the way outside to where their six motorcycles are parked in the alleyway just off to the side of the building. It takes a couple of taps for Donghyuck to transfer the call from his phone to the earpieces, but as soon as he slips his back in, everyone else seems to catch on and do the same. 

“You tend to tell me that a lot,” Mark chuckles, strained. Donghyuck can almost picture his grimace, but that leads to him picturing a panicked Mark somewhere in trouble, phone pressed to his ear as he tries to stay quiet so as to not arouse suspicion, and he knows that’s not an image he’ll be forgetting any time soon.

“That’s because it’s true and you deserve to hear it,” Donghyuck says, barely seated properly on his motorcycle before he’s tearing out of the alleyway and down the street. “Someone has to take your ego down a few notches occasionally.”

Donghyuck continues to babble on complete bullshit about the debriefing for the sole reasons of keeping Mark both distracted and on the line. He’s just eating up time as he zips out of the crowded city streets and back onto the more familiar suburban boulevards. For just a split second, he’s tempted to take the shortcut back to base, but Mark’s warning about taking the long way rings in his ears, and he doesn’t take the first exit he could, trusting that the rest of the group will follow his lead.

It doesn’t take too much longer after Donghyuck reaches the third exit, the one he needs, that Mark interrupts him.

“Look, Donghyuck, I already know you’re on your way back,” Mark stresses. “I know the others can hear me too and I know I’ve been acting oddly as of late, but I need you to listen to me very closely.”

“Mark, what—” Donghyuck barely gets to start before Mark’s talking again, and he closes his mouth so he can pay attention to every word that leaves Mark’s.

“Don’t come back, Donghyuck. Don’t come back to the base, it’s not safe. I need you to take the boys and go to a safehouse, but don’t tell me which one. Lay low until Lancelot comes to find you,” Mark instructs, each syllable clipped and unmistakable. “I’ve made peace with my decision and all I ask is that you do the same.” Donghyuck’s speedometer grazes ninety-five as the words wash over him, the dirt road he needs to take finally within his sights.

“What decision? Mark, what the hell is going on? We’re almost back, so just hold on—”

“Lee Donghyuck, do not come back to base. That is a direct order,” Mark growls, but the stress that’s so apparent in his voice makes Donghyuck physically shake his head, which isn’t the safest thing when going this fast on a motorcycle.

“Yeah, and it’s an order I’m going to blatantly disregard. What are you _talking_ about? When this whole thing started, we said we’re making decisions together or not at all. That was the point of the team. Who the hell gave you the right to throw that all away?”

“I need you to trust me on this!”

“I can’t trust you. Not now, not when this is happening and you still can’t give me a straight answer.”

Donghyuck rounds the last bend in the road, taking it so sharply his knee nearly grazes the ground.

“Donghyuck, _please,”_ Mark begs, the desperation in it making Donghyuck’s stomach twist, the grip of the fear in his chest tightening until it hurts to breathe. Mark doesn’t beg — he’s too strong for that, but here he is, begging Donghyuck to listen to him for once. The one time it means the most to Mark is the one time Donghyuck can’t listen, not when the feeling of something awful happening settles in the front of his mind, impossible to ignore.

“No, I need you to stop whatever you’re doing and we’ll figure this out together as a team because if you do something stupid right now, I swear to _fuck_ Mark Lee, I will never forgive you.” Donghyuck means it with his whole heart, and he knows Mark understands, the trembling inhale giving him away. For the sake of them both, Donghyuck hopes Mark chooses his next words wisely.

The base is in sight now, the silhouette stark against the background of the bright moon. For just a second, Donghyuck swears he can see a figure in one of the windows on the first level, standing tall with one hand holding something to the side of their head — a phone. It’s a painfully familiar figure, but the relief that shoots through Donghyuck’s system at the sight of it is short lived.

“Haechannie, I—”

Mark never gets to finish what he starts to say because as soon as those words leave his mouth, something comes screaming out of the sky. It hits the base, their _home,_ straight on, the entire thing exploding before his very eyes. 

The line goes dead and Donghyuck lets out a yell, skidding his motorcycle to a stop, trying not to flip over the handlebars from how abruptly he grinds to a halt in the middle of the road. Even from this distance, the blast shakes the ground beneath his bike, the flare of heat soaking into his helmet, making sweat bead along his forehead. 

Jisung skids up beside him, not even bothering to turn the ignition off as he leaps off of his bike, tossing his helmet to the ground as he sprints towards the flaming hole in the ground that’s now what remains of their home. He calls for Mark with such raw pain and desperation in his voice that it rips Donghyuck’s heart apart from the inside out just to witness it.

The ground continues to crumble, though, collapsing in on itself where the underground labyrinth of tunnels and rooms in their base have been exposed and incinerated. Jisung’s only going to get hurt if he keeps moving forward. With a loud curse, Donghyuck nearly trips over himself in his haste to jump off his own bike, yanking off his helmet to throw down as he chases Jisung. He barely manages to catch him in time, pulling him back from the edge of the burning chasm just as the ground disintegrates where Jisung’s next steps would’ve been.

Jisung fights him for a moment, straining against Donghyuck’s hold.

“Let me go! Mark’s in there, we have to—”

“You can’t go in there, Ji! It’s dangerous!” Donghyuck has to yell over the continuing sounds of the inferno roaring and the bunker collapsing in on itself. Even the ground they’re still standing on isn’t safe yet.

“But Mark—”

“I’m not losing another one of you tonight!” Donghyuck roars, and the words quiet Jisung down. He stops struggling, nearly going limp in Donghyuck’s arms instead. They’re both out of breath as they stand there for a lingering moment until the flames start to lick a little too close to their feet and Donghyuck turns them around to guide Jisung back to his bike. 

He can’t meet the eyes of the others despite their gazes being hidden behind their darkened visors. He can’t let them see how badly his hands are shaking, how his knees are threatening to give out from the grief that hasn’t really sunk in yet, how the gleam in his eyes isn’t just from the smoke and ashes that have begun to plague the crisp night air, blocking out the stars. 

“This will be swarming with firefighters, government agents, and surely press within a few hours. I guarantee whatever just hit the base wasn’t an authorized strike in this airspace, which means we need to be long gone by the time people start showing up, absolutely no trace left behind. The rest of Kingsman will take care of this.”

Donghyuck picks up his helmet from the dirt where he’d tossed it in the midst of his pursuit of Jisung. His expression is pinched as he brushes it off and slides it back on, glancing over to see that Jisung has done the same.

“You’re the senior agent now, Gawain,” Jeno says quietly through the static of the earpiece. It’s still trying to connect back to Mark’s phone, and something ugly twists in Donghyuck’s gut that he has to shove down — he’ll deal with it later once everyone is safe. “What do we do? Where do we go?”

“We find Lancelot.”

“But Mark said—” Chenle starts, but is promptly cut off by a sharp elbow to the ribs from Renjun.

“I know what Galahad said,” Donghyuck snaps. “I also know where Lancelot is, so we’re going to go seek him out. I’m not going to wait around for answers.”

“How do you know where Lancelot is?” Jaemin asks cautiously, as if he’s scared of the response he might get.

“Lancelot is with Arthur, like always,” Donghyuck replies easily, like it’s obvious. It’s not, he’s just being snippy because he feels too many things bubbling up inside him right now. The faint static in his ear from the dropped call grows deafening, but he can’t bring himself to hang up. It would feel too final.

“Well how the hell do you know where _Arthur_ is? His location is never revealed to us.” Jaemin’s incredulous, flipping up his visor to look at Donghyuck directly. Donghyuck reaches over and shuts it again.

“I keep tabs on everyone in the agency. Security purposes. It’s something—” Donghyuck stops himself, but they all know what he was going to say. It’s something Mark always does, and he’s just picked up the habit.

No, not _does._

Did.

Something he _did._

Not anymore.

Donghyuck has to take a deep breath at that thought, revving the engine almost subconsciously. The rest of DREAM notice where his train of thought is going, exchanging meaningful glances behind the visors. Donghyuck has to physically shake his head to rid himself of the downward spiral of thoughts that latch onto his brain, sinking their fangs in and refusing to let go until Donghyuck has his share of pain.

“Back to Jeno’s question.” Renjun leans forward over his handlebars, hands laced neatly in front of him. “Where are we headed?”

Donghyuck lets himself crack a smile from behind his visor.

“How do we all feel about Ibiza?”


	2. Episode 2 — Dear DREAM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donghyuck just wants to be emo in peace, and Jisung the chip thief is having none of it.  
> Renjun and Chenle can't kill a fly.  
> Jaemin needs a hug and another nap ASAP.  
> Jeno accidentally finds something really important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by a giant pack of gummy bears, bc without it, i never would've finished this
> 
> [anca's](https://twitter.com/sooyoonies) visual for this chapter IS AN ENTIRE MAGAZINE????? AS A CARRD???? AND IT'S INCREDIBLE???? IM BLOWN AWAY????? you can read it [HERE](https://checkmatez.carrd.co) so please check it out bc it's amazing and she's SO TALENTED and i'm absolutely blown away by her talents once again,,, it does an incredible job of introducing the characters and little tidbits about them in a hilarious way and did i mention i love anca and she's incredibly talented????
> 
> i love how i was worried about this chapter being really short when i first started planning. then my hand slipped and now we're at 10k??? somehow???? so lmao there's that
> 
> [TW: vague description of a panic attack about 3/4 of the way through]
> 
> [[as always, val ily; without you this wouldn't be half as legible as it is]]

**LOCATION: IBIZA, SPAIN**

**THREE YEARS LATER [give or take]**

**Donghyuck** has decided he likes Monday mornings in Ibiza. After jumping around private islands and underground bunkers for the past few years, staying out of sight for the most part, Ibiza brings a refreshing change to all of that. 

The streets are quiet as the first rays of sun stretch their golden limbs over the horizon, warming Donghyuck through the suit coat that sticks to his arms uncomfortably. It’s a consequence of the blood on his arms that hadn’t quite dried before he slipped it on earlier. It’s the quietest a place like Ibiza ever is, and it’s one of the few times Donghyuck can find peace.

Most everyone’s hungover from the weekend still, and it’s still just a bit too early for those who aren’t to be out and about yet, so Donghyuck has most of the streets to himself. Anyone who does brave the early morning just writes him off as another haggard, hungover drunk young adult staggering his way home from a rough previous night of partying. The thought doesn’t bother him because it means no one pays him much attention — that image isn’t uncommon here in the slightest.

Donghyuck examines the dirt and dried blood caked under his nails and sighs. He’s a bit more of a disaster right now than he’d like to be after a mission, but it wasn’t his fault that things got messy. He’d had it all set up quite beautifully actually — the target in his sights, alone with him and unsuspecting as Donghyuck had reached for the silenced gun he’d tucked into the holster at the small of his back. It was just his luck that the target’s little brother had barged in just then, and Donghyuck knew his entire plan had just gotten shot to hell.

The boy had seen Donghyuck’s gun and screamed, alerting the target. Donghyuck promptly skidded over and scooped the boy into his arms, shooting the target between the eyes while keeping his brother’s face tucked into his shoulder so he didn’t have to see anything. Between the scream and the sound of the gun, Donghyuck knew his time there was limited, and fled the scene.

He’d dropped the boy off in a room and locked him there, only having the time to feel an ounce of guilt before a swarm of trained guards descended upon him. Fighting his way out of that hadn’t been pretty, and he’d used just about every weapon he’d been carrying on his person at the time, but he’d made it out of the mansion. He’d stolen one of the numerous sports cars from the garage and proceeded to lead what seemed like half of the entire Austrian police force on a high speed chase through the mountains that had resulted in half a dozen cars flying off the side of the cliff face when they couldn’t make the sharp turns, and another several flipping over when their tires blew out from Donghyuck’s shooting.

It was a miracle he’d made it out of there alive, downplaying the severity of it all in his debriefing with Arthur when he’d made it to the rendezvous point where a private jet would bring him back to Ibiza, but all he could do was think back to was that little boy. He may very well still be locked in that room, not realizing that there’s a pile of dead bodies outside the door, soaking in their own blood as well as a fair amount of Donghyuck’s.

He picks at the cuff of his jacket, grimacing as it peels uncomfortably off of his arm, flakes of dried blood falling down to the ground. The sight of that makes him stop because, in all honesty, he doesn’t know whose blood it is, and he can’t leave evidence so carelessly. No one’s really supposed to know he’s alive still, which is why his mind keeps going back to that boy, hoping that his choice to spare his life after seeing Donghyuck’s face won’t come back to bite him.

Tugging the baseball cap a little lower over his eyes, he pushes open the gate that leads into the apartment complex that he’s currently renting a space in under some fake name he can’t be bothered to recall at the moment. He knows exactly where all the cameras are in the main hall and exactly how to avoid showing any distinguishing features of his to them. 

Something feels off when he steps out of the elevator to the hallway his apartment is in. It’s an uncomfortable weight in the depths of his chest, telling him that something’s not right. His hand drifts under the back of his suit coat, carefully wrapping his fingers around the grip of the gun he keeps there: Joy. He rubs his thumb over the worn out smiley sticker that’s there to keep himself grounded when the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. Using his free hand to fish the key to his apartment door out of his pocket, he slides it in the lock as quietly as possible.

With a gentle turn of his wrist and a soft click of the latch, the door unlocks and Donghyuck takes in a measured breath. Turning the handle as slowly as he can, he pushes the door open and slips inside without a sound. 

It’s only now that he considers the possibility of this all just being paranoia, the remnants of the stress-induced chemical imbalance in his body acting up, leaving him jittery and on edge when there’s nothing to be concerned about. His gut tells him otherwise, though, so he remains on high alert as he closes the door behind him, other hand still tight around Joy.

Donghyuck sucks in another quiet breath before stepping out from behind the wall that blocks off the view of the front entrance from the majority of the apartment, Joy now out in the open in front of him. Instead of being met with the sight of an intruder or the remnants of a break-in, he’s met with the sight of a figure sitting on his kitchen counter, one arm elbow-deep in a bag of chips and an eyebrow cocked.

“I didn’t actually hear you come in,” the figure says, impressed, before crunching down on another chip. “You’re getting better at that.”

“I gave you that key for _emergencies,_ Jisung,” Donghyuck huffs, lowering Joy from where she’d been pointed at his unflinching teammate.

“I ran out of chips.” Jisung shrugs, popping another one into his mouth, chewing pointedly.

“That doesn’t constitute an emergency.” Donghyuck throws him a look, putting Joy down on the dining room table and beginning to unload the rest of his weapons there, too. He takes stock of what he’s left with as he lays everything out, and he realizes just how much he either lost or used up on the mission and has to grimace. He’s normally much more efficient than this. He heaves a sigh, taking the baseball cap off to run a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”

“Well aren’t you just cheerful today,” Jisung snarks as he crinkles the bag a little bit. “I knew you were coming back. Is it not enough to want to drop in and say hello?”

“That isn’t going to fly with me and you know it,” Donghyuck says, taking apart Joy so he can clean her later. The little smiley stickers smattered across her gleaming gold finish make the cleaning process a little more difficult than it strictly has to be, but they have both sentimental and aesthetic value, so Donghyuck isn’t going to take them off any time soon. “Are you going to tell me why you’re _really_ here?”

“You want to know why?” Jisung scoffs, setting down the chip bag and wiping his fingers on a paper towel. He unfolds his legs and slides down from his perch on the counter so he can stand, leaning against it. “I’m here because I’m worried about you, and from the looks of it, my concern is completely justified.”

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not, Donghyuck,” Jisung snaps. Something hits Donghyuck in the side of the head, and he looks down to see a chip on the floor, then moves his gaze over to see that Jisung has already reloaded, a new chip in his hand ready to release at Donghyuck should he say something stupid again. “You haven’t been for a while.”

“None of us really have, in case you didn’t notice,” Donghyuck says, turning his attention back to his weapons until another chip hits him in the side of the head. _“Hey!”_

“The rest of us are healing. You’re not. You clearly don’t have any intention to, either,” Jisung observes looking him up and down. “What the hell happened out there, Hyuck? You’re a mess. You’re usually not this bad of shape, even after your solo missions.”

“It got a little messier than anticipated, that’s all,” Donghyuck brushes off. Jisung squints at him for a long moment, clearly not sold.

“It wouldn’t have gotten messy if you didn’t go alone,” Jisung starts, voice raising up at the end in suggestion. Donghyuck narrows his eyes.

“No. Absolutely not. We aren’t having this discussion again.”

“Yes we are, because you’re still being reckless. You’ve lost all sense of self-preservation and you’re just going to keep taking whatever missions Arthur hands out to you until it kills you, and I’m not going to stand back and watch one of my brothers die,” Jisung thunders. It’s easy for Donghyuck to forget how strong the youngest is sometimes. “Not again.”

The finishing words have such a bite to them that Donghyuck physically flinches.

“Bringing that up was a shitty move, Ji,” Donghyuck points out quietly. “We all cope in different ways.”

“This isn’t coping!” he cries in response. “This is destroying you!”

“I already am destroyed! We all are! The difference is that either I die in the field alone, or you die with me in the field, and you know exactly which one I’d choose.”

“Oh, fuck you, Donghyuck,” Jisung spits. “This is the same mentality that got Mark killed, and I’m not going to tolerate it from you as well. We’re a _team,_ and you’re not going out alone.”

The mention of Mark’s name takes the breath right out of Donghyuck’s lungs. It’s a sort of taboo within DREAM; everyone has been sticking to using pronouns to refer to him, but mostly they just avoid the subject entirely. The last time Donghyuck can recall any of them speaking his name before this was at the meeting the Kingsman held to honor his death, where everyone toasted to his name and title before taking a drink of too-expensive whiskey. 

“Jisung…” Donghyuck loses all fight left in him, his shoulders falling and his head bowing as he braces himself on the back of the chair. “I can’t promise you I won’t go on more missions. If going on them might ruin me, then _not_ going on them for sure would.”

“And that’s why I’m saying you need to have someone with you out in the field.” Jisung flicks a crumb off the hem of his shirt absently. “We can help if you’d just _let us.”_

Tense silence rushes into the room between the eventual absence of words. Jisung matches Donghyuck’s gaze, refusing to back down until he agrees. Donghyuck isn’t getting out of this unless he appeases Jisung’s request and they both know it, so he sighs, relenting at last.

“Fine. No more missions alone.”

“And don’t even try to find any stupid loopholes,” Jisung warns. “Someone else will be with you in the field.”

Donghyuck snorts. There goes his plan — Jisung always could read him a little too well.

“Fine.”

“And the person you go with has to be from DREAM.”

“What?” Donghyuck shakes his head. “No. You’re pushing too far with too little leverage here. You already got one thing today, I’m not putting any of you in danger with me as well.”

“Anything you’re doing out there are things the rest of us can handle too, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jisung counters. “We’re all Kingsman agents for a reason. I’m not letting you invalidate our years of training just because you want to protect us. You’re turning into Mark, I swear—”

“I’m not him, I will never be him, now stop drawing that comparison,” Donghyuck hisses, seeing the surprise flash in Jisung’s eyes at the sudden hostility. “I’m not taking any of you with me. I’ll ask Lancelot if I need to, but—”

“You won’t be _taking_ us anywhere,” Jisung interjects, either unafraid or just simply uncaring of how wound up Donghyuck is right now. With one wrong touch, he might simply explode with Jisung right in the blast radius. “We’re _going with_ you. There’s a difference, you know.”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to argue the subject further, to bring up more points of why it’s smarter to not bring a subset of DREAM on a mission, but Jisung raises a hand to cut him off.

“No, I don’t wanna argue about this with you anymore. I’ll leave that to Renjun.” Jisung tips his head to the side, cracking his neck. “I came here for a different reason.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t really because you were worried about me?” Donghyuck smiles, knowing that it’ll annoy Jisung. True to expectation, Jisung throws another chip at him, but this time Donghyuck is ready, dodging it with ease.

“We have a meeting with Arthur this afternoon. He mentioned something about a case.”

“Huh.” Donghyuck’s brows furrow. “I talked with him this morning on the flight back and he never said anything of the sort then.”

“Maybe it’s a new development?” Jisung shrugs, pushing himself off the counter so he’s standing up straight. “Either way, it’s important.”

Donghyuck nods, still frowning as he straightens up as well, making a grab for one of the knives on the table to arm himself before turning on his heel to walk toward the door.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Jisung laughs. “It’s not until this afternoon. Besides, you need to clean both yourself and your weapons before you think about going anywhere else.”

Donghyuck looks down and takes stock of himself for the first time since the start of that mission, seeing that his suit is torn in a few places — slashes by knives and grazed by bullets — there’s blood and dirt everywhere, and one of his shoes is half melted through at the sole. He finds that last part out with some amount of chagrin when he raises his foot, remembering the interesting weapon choice of a flamethrower that one of the fighters back at the mansion had chosen. He’s found it amusing in the heat of the moment, but now he’s just irked because he really liked this pair of shoes, and having to ask Lancelot for another pair just like them would be embarrassing because he’d surely have to explain himself.

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Donghyuck comments, no shortness of mirth dripping from his voice. He starts on his way to the bathroom, calling over his shoulder on his way. “Pick up those chips before you leave, and try not to set off the security system on your way out.”

“That was Jeno last time, not me!” Jisung yells back. Donghyuck doesn’t have to look to know that he’s grinning from ear to ear, having gotten everything he wanted and more.

“And put my chips back!” Donghyuck shouts as he closes the bathroom door behind him. The only response he gets is a giggle and a telltale crinkle of cellophane before the sound of the front door closing rings through the apartment. All he can do is shake his head — there’s really no stopping that boy anymore, and he should know better than to try at this point.

His mind on lighter subjects, he peels himself out of his ruined suit and turns the shower on. The water is scalding when Donghyuck steps in, steam rolling off of his pinkening shoulders the longer he stands there. Water slides off his skin in rivulets, crystal clear turning rusty brown as it picks up grime and dried blood. 

Donghyuck checks over his body, finding far fewer injuries than he’d anticipated, although he’s still going to need some serious bandaging in some places. As much as he’d like to be happy about it, that means the rest of the blood on him is from other people, and that realization doesn’t sit very happily in the bottom of his stomach, making it clench.

Hands curled into fists, he rests them on the wall of the shower, hanging his head down. The stream of water hits the back of his head now, water running in streams into his ears, down off the tip of his nose and the curve of his lips. He can’t breathe like this, everything muted except for the sound of his own heartbeat.

It’s easier, though, focusing on his pulse, everything else drowned out by the volume of his thoughts and the rush of water in his ears. He stays like that for a long moment, watching until the water begins to run clearer, hating every bit of himself for what he does. 

Jisung has every right to be worried, if Donghyuck’s being honest with himself. Objectively, he knows that he’s tearing himself apart, that he has been for a while now, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop. He doesn’t know how. He’s been letting himself decay for so long that he may very well be past the point of salvation, too many puzzle pieces missing out of him to be put back together properly at this point.

He used to be able to keep himself in check, to contain his emotions better instead of using missions as an outlet. A kill counter used to be kept in a journal for his conscience’s sake, to know exactly how much blood was on his hands so he could maintain some semblance of sanity in this job. That’s long gone — the counter abandoned with his conscience somewhere along the wayside a few years back when— 

Mark. 

His mind jumps back to Mark like it always does when he thinks for too long. That’s why he’s been doing missions. It keeps him from thinking, from going back to his dead teammate, from the guilt rising up too high in his throat in the form of bile, from the regrets that will weigh him down until he drowns in himself.

What would Mark think about this, if he could see Donghyuck now? If he could see any of them now?

He wonders if they’re even recognizable at this point, although it’s doubtful.

Frustration bubbling up inside, Donghyuck knows he needs to go find a healthy outlet and _fast._ With a healthy outlet usually being some non-sentient object to punch for a little bit, he knows just where to go.

♦♘♦

**Jaemin** lands a solid punch directly in the center of his opponent’s chest, sending him staggering backward, almost stumbling. He wrings out his hand after, looking down to make sure the tape is all still in place. 

_“Christ,_ Jaem,” Jeno wheezes, clutching the center of his chest as he struggles to regain the breath that was just knocked out of him. “Who put salt in _your_ coffee this morning?”

“I’m fine,” Jaemin shoots back, but knows that his words aren’t going to hold water — not with the person that’s known him the longest.

“Right, right,” Jeno coughs, standing up straight, “and I’m the Queen of England.”

“You’re annoying,” Jaemin muses, advancing.

“And you’re evasive, so what gives?” Jeno replies, not losing a shred of his snark as he dodges another hit from Jaemin, retaliating with a kick of his own that lands solidly on Jaemin’s thigh.

Jaemin gives up their argument then, not caring that he’s only further proving Jeno’s point. He stops himself from stumbling from Jeno’s kick by grabbing the leg that’s still outstretched. Jeno’s eyes flash with an interesting mix of defiance and amusement before Jaemin yanks it to the side and Jeno falls to the ground, face first.

Jaemin can’t help but think that Jeno should know better than to use an amateur move like that on him, of all people.

While Jeno’s down, Jaemin kneels on his back pinning his wrists to his spine with one hand, the other arm swooping around in front of Jeno’s neck to pull tight around his jugular. Jeno struggles, but he’s at a disadvantage and can’t get the leverage he needs to knock Jaemin away.

“Tap out or pass out,” Jaemin says, taunting, knowing that Jeno’s pride isn’t so big that he’ll willingly faint before he calls for mercy. It’s just sparring, after all, something to keep them active and in shape, skills sharp while they continue to wait for Arthur to give them a mission.

Before Jeno can pat Jaemin’s forearm, though, the sound of a gunshot from the next room has Jaemin letting go immediately. Jeno splutters and rolls over onto his back, panting hard as he bats away Jaemin’s concerned hands.

“I’m fine. I was about to tap out, anyway,” he assures weakly, regaining his bearings.

“You went easy on me today,” Jaemin accuses, his eyes narrowing.

“You were distracted,” Jeno defends. “I could’ve hurt you if I’d really tried. It seemed like you needed more of a vent than anything.”

“Yeah… maybe I did…” Jaemin sighs, getting up and offering a hand to Jeno, which he takes and lets himself be hauled up onto his feet. “Thanks.”

“I think you should be thanking Renjun for using the chandelier for target practice again,” Jeno snorts. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to your senses.” 

A crash from outside signals that the chandelier itself has finally kicked the bucket. The several shouts that follow later demonstrate that at least one of their teammates feels the same.

“Chenle’s going to start using Renjun as target practice if we don’t break this up,” Jeno sighs, most likely resigning himself to the fact that he’s going to have to play mediator in all of this with Donghyuck still gone. 

“I suppose this is what happens when you stuff people like us underground for three years,” Jaemin muses. “They’re restless.”

“And you’re not?”

“Three years is a long enough time for anyone, don’t you think?” Jaemin says over his shoulder as he moves toward the hall door, grinning. The audible sigh that Jeno gives in response makes him laugh, just happy that he could dodge the question.

The door swings open to reveal chaos, which is nothing less than what Jaemin expected. What he didn’t see coming is that Renjun and Chenle aren’t wrestling on the ground this time, instead seemingly working together toward the common goal of making the ornate chandelier come crashing down from its supports on the ceiling.

“What the hell…” Jeno murmurs, stepping out beside Jaemin as they survey the scene before them.

Bullet holes in the ceiling, knives scattered across the floor and stuck in the walls, Chenle standing on the back of the couch with a rifle pointed up while Renjun — pistol at his feet — continues to throw knives at some unknown threat.

“What the _hell_ is going on out here?”

“Renjun doesn’t think I can shoot a fly!” Chenle calls before firing once more, plaster raining down from the ceiling as the chandelier shakes. “I’m proving him wrong!”

“This is not a matter of _pride,_ young one,” Renjun barks, a knife whizzing through the air just past Chenle’s head. He doesn’t flinch. “That fly landed in my juice and I will have vengeance!”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Jaemin mutters. Jeno hums in agreement. “You’d think one of these days they’d learn to grow up a bit.”

“Says you!” Renjun lands a knife in the doorframe just to the left of Jaemin’s head. Jaemin just sighs, not bothering to pry it out of the wood. “You’re the one who was complaining about not having a curly straw to drink your water from last week.”

Jaemin levels him with a look, unimpressed. 

“But I didn’t start throwing knives around to try and solve my problem, now did I?”

“Of course you didn’t,” Renjun says calmly. “It would be stupid to try and find a bendy straw with a knife, now wouldn’t it?”

As always, arguing with him proves fruitless, and Jaemin moves on rather quickly from that failed endeavor. Jeno’s already gone from his side, presumably to avoid this mess entirely, which Jaemin is honestly considering doing. If he leaves now, as the sole voice of reason, the ceiling might literally collapse, so he begrudgingly stays to try and talk his idiotic, stubborn friends down from their antics.

It doesn’t matter for much longer, thankfully.

“It’s there! By the door!” Chenle calls, aiming his rifle at the front door. Jaemin can’t even see the fly, but Chenle’s vision has always been just a little too sharp, so he has no reason not to trust his word.

“Chenle, don’t shoot the door—” Jaemin starts, weary, but is cut short by it swinging wide open, revealing a tired-looking Jisung. He immediately perks up when he sees Chenle pointing a gun at his head, more alert than ever.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his tone saying that he isn’t really sure if he wants to know.

“There’s a fly,” Renjun says, as if that explains everything. Apparently it does, because Jisung lights up and claps his hands together in front of him.

“You mean this one?” He opens up his palms flick the dead fly off his skin.

“That was gross, Ji,” Chenle says, hopping down from the back of the couch. Jaemin really doesn’t like how carelessly he’s holding the rife. Jisung makes a face at him.

“You’ve literally killed people before. Why is a fly suddenly gross to you?”

Chenle just shrugs and walks off to god-knows-where, still toting his smoking rifle. Jeno’s handing Renjun a fresh cup of juice, and suddenly everything’s bearably calm again. It’s back to how it is most mornings: quiet, but always on the brink of chaos.

“How’d it go?” Renjun turns to Jisung, voice muffled weirdly when he speaks into his cup.

“Donghyuck’s back. He’ll be here for Arthur’s call later.” He pauses.

He’s holding something back. They all know it. More quiet seeps into the hall, but it’s less familiar this time, less comforting.

“How is he?” Renjun asks slowly. “Do we even want to know?”

“Oh, he was pretty fucked up from this one,” Jisung says, nonchalant. He toes off his shoes, kicking them gently to the side of the doorway before he continues. Everyone else waits for more. “But I got what I wanted.”

“Which is…?” Renjun prompts, irritation beginning to color his voice with all of the questions he keeps having to ask.

“He didn’t shoot me, he admitted that he’s being self destructive, and he promised he won’t go on any more missions alone.” Jisung ticks each statement off with a finger, head tilted to the side as he does so.

A whistle comes from the kitchen, and Jaemin looks over to see Chenle sitting cross-legged on one of the stools at the counter, peeling an orange, no rifle in sight. He doesn’t know when he got there, but he’s long-since stopped questioning how Chenle gets around. 

“You managed to do that all in one conversation? Teach me your ways of coercion, oh great one.” Chenle’s only half-joking when he says it, the bit of awe in his voice giving it away. “Way to keep up the spotless record of success.”

“Told you you should’ve let me talk to him earlier,” Jisung grumbles, finally shutting the front door behind him as he pads off to the kitchen, stealing an orange segment from Chenle with a flourish. Something’s bothering him, something he isn’t telling the rest of them, and they all exchange the same expression.

Renjun points at Jaemin silently, who shakes his head vigorously, unsure if he’s the one that should be wheedling information out of Jisung, especially in his fragile state. Jeno and Chenle clearly don’t share the same mindset when they nod in agreement with Renjun and sneak out of the proximity before Jaemin can even think about stopping them.

Before Renjun can leave, he sends a wink to Jaemin, who proceeds to stick both middle fingers up at him in return. Renjun scuttles away in a fit of smug, silent laughter. He’s _so_ going to pay for this later. For now, Jaemin has to turn his attention to the sulking boy in the kitchen who’s trying quite hard to look like he’s not sulking.

“Got any plans for the morning?” Jaemin speaks up finally, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter while Jisung busies himself with cleaning up the mess of orange peel Chenle left behind.

“I was going to get more sleep, but I’m still a bit all over the place up here.” He taps his temple, not meeting Jaemin’s eye.

“What’s up?”

“Donghyuck is what’s up.”

Jaemin sighs, “Isn’t he always?”

“It went too easily,” Jisung finally admits, visibly frustrated. “He’s been fighting this for so long. Why did he give in now? And why did he give in so much? It doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re just that powerful,” Jaemin jokes. Jisung gives him a withering look in response, so he holds his hands up in defense and tries again. “Maybe something happened on the mission? You said he looked pretty messed up.”

“Maybe,” Jisung concedes, as if the suggestion is juvenile and he’s indulging it for the sake of appeasing Jaemin. Jaemin, however, doesn’t want to be appeased — he just wants to know what’s wrong with two of his teammates.

“But you think otherwise,” Jaemin concludes, not taking the bait of getting annoyed. It would leave Jisung with an easy escape, but Jaemin’s not letting him go that easily. He crosses his arms, walking around the counter to stand next to Jisung. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I know that things aren’t adding up.” Jisung shakes his head slowly, closing his eyes. “Just a weird feeling.”

“Trust your gut, Sungie,” is all Jaemin can offer. Jisung snorts, eyes opening but not looking at Jaemin.

“You know he used to say that?”

Jaemin doesn’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I said his name to Donghyuck,” Jisung whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, grip turning white on the edge of the countertop. “That’s what got him to give in. I know he’s a touchy subject for all of us, but I know it hit Hyuck especially hard because of how close they were and… Jaem, what if I fucked up?” He whips his head around to look at Jaemin, stricken all of a sudden. “What if I pushed him too far and now he’s going to go do something stupid because he’s mad? What if—”

“Woah there, Ji. This has you really wound up, doesn’t it?” Jaemin places a comforting hand between Jisung’s shoulder blades, his fingers rubbing lightly at the neckline of his shirt. “Donghyuck is incredibly strong, he’ll be fine. He’s also incredibly opinionated and incredibly _loud_ about voicing those opinions. I’m sure if you pushed him too far, he would’ve let you know.”

Jisung nods silently, letting the two of them stand there for a moment. The ambient noise of the world outside drifts in and out of Jaemin’s awareness, the only accompaniment to their breathing. 

“I miss him,” Jisung says, finally. “So much.”

This time, Jaemin isn’t sure if Jisung’s talking about Mark or if he’s talking about the old Donghyuck, the one that was carefree and constantly happy all those years ago, but it doesn’t matter because Jaemin’s answer is the same for both.

“Me too,” he replies, soft but truthful. “But we can’t change the past.”

They stay like that for another extended moment, Jisung slowly relaxing his grip on the countertop, Jaemin continuing to rub careful circles onto his back.

“Let’s go take a nap,” Jaemin murmurs eventually. “You need it.”

Numbly, Jisung lets Jaemin guide them out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and to Jaemin’s room. He lets Jaemin handle him into bed, divesting him of all his weapons first before tucking him in, blankets pulled up to his chin. He looks younger like this. Jaemin idly wonders how he missed him growing up — wonders if it happened when he was looking too closely or wasn’t looking at all.

Jaemin turns around to leave, but a grip on his wrist stops him from getting too far.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jisung grunts. “You said _let’s,_ that means both of us.”

Jaemin huffs, hoping it sounds irritated enough to mask the fondness, hoping the darkness is enough to shroud the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. He slides under the covers next to Jisung — not too close, but still close enough that he can feel Jisung’s warmth. 

He lets his mind wander, oscillating between Donghyuck, the chandelier, the bruises on his shoulder blades from when Jeno slammed him into the wall earlier, and finally to Jisung himself. 

As if sensing that he’s the subject of Jaemin’s thoughts, Jisung turns over to flick him on the forehead. 

“Stop thinking so loudly,” he grumbles, disgruntled and displeased. If Jaemin were more awake, he’d pinch his cheeks for being so adorable. “Just rest.”

Jaemin, whose mind is apparently completely incapable of resisting a request from Jisung, swears he falls asleep right then and there.

The next time he opens his eyes is because someone’s shaking his shoulder, urging him to do so.

“Donghyuck’s here,” they warn. It’s Renjun. “You two need to get up.”

“Oh, shit,” Jaemin hisses, throwing the covers off, maneuvering out of Jisung’s sleepy hold to sit upright. “We’ll be right down.”

“I can keep him occupied, but you’d better hurry,” Renjun delivers, quick and quiet and clipped, before disappearing out the door. 

“Feeling better?” Jaemin asks, glancing over his shoulder to see Jisung sitting up as well, stretching his long limbs.

“Loads,” comes Jisung’s reply just before he promptly drapes himself over Jaemin’s back, making him nearly bend in half. Jaemin shakes with laughter nonetheless, shoving Jisung off.

“You’re heavy,” he groans, playful.

“It’s what happens when you grow up,” Jisung responds pointedly. Jaemin freezes at that, the laughter extinguished out of his system, replaced by an unpleasant coldness.

“Ji…” he starts, voice low.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jisung replies, heaving himself up off the bed so he’s standing. “C’mon, we have a grumpy Gawain to deal with.”

Jaemin nods, getting up and following Jisung out. They descend the stairs to find Donghyuck not sulking around like he usually does when they make him come back to the base, but sitting contentedly on a couch, feet kicked up as he absently takes apart and puts back together one of his prized guns — Callie, Jaemin can only assume, because Joy’s stickers make her assembly process quite lengthy. He has some sort of deep-rooted emotional connection with those two that he’s never really talked about, and if Jaemin’s being honest, as long as Donghyuck is happy with his weapons, it doesn’t really matter.

Renjun sits across from him, setting up a game of chess. It’s a weird thing the two of them have going on — the whole chess thing. Keeping score of how many games each of them win, playing until some indefinite number when one of them will finally claim victory over the other. They’ve been going at it for years, and Jaemin doubts it will end any time soon either. If he remembers correctly, last time he checked in on the score, it’d been 3,067 to 3,070 in Donghyuck’s favor. It’s one of the largest gaps they’ve ever had and Renjun’s desperate to close it again, mostly for the sake of taking Donghyuck’s ego down a peg.

Jisung goes to join them, making a beeline straight to the seat next to Donghyuck after he gets to the main floor, while Jaemin just heads straight to the training room where he’s sure Jeno is.

When he pushes open the door, he witnesses Jeno stuck in a headlock for the second time that day, but this time it’s not at his own hand. Chenle has Jeno’s neck tucked neatly into his forearm, the other one braced at the back of his head while Jeno struggles.

Jaemin knocks on the doorframe just as Jeno’s beginning to turn an off-putting shade of purple.

“That’s enough, Chenle. Let him go.”

“Aw,” Chenle sighs, pouting. He does release Jeno, though, who falls to the floor, panting. The face-splitting grin he’s sporting tells Jaemin he’s more than okay, so he doesn’t bother asking.

“That was a brilliant move,” he wheezes, still smiling. “You’ll have to teach that one to me.”

“I got that one from Lancelot,” Chenle declares proudly, wiping the sweat off his brow.

“You can teach him later,” Jaemin says, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Meeting with Arthur in fifteen, so at least _try_ to look presentable?”

“Is Donghyuck back?” Chenle quirks an eyebrow, thumbing at the bandage on his elbow absently.

“He’s in the living room playing chess with Renjun again,” Jaemin lets them know. “Please clean up the front hall before the end of the day, though. I don’t want any stray knives falling on my head when I walk through there.”

“That was Renjun’s fault, make him do it,” Chenle shoots back. Jeno, now standing, whacks him on the back of the head good-naturedly. “Yeah, okay, fine,” he relents, moping.

“In the name of everything that is good, _please_ just leave and go shower,” Jaemin groans. “You both need it.”

“You’re one to talk.” Jeno makes a face at him as he passes. “You were sparring earlier.”

“Yeah, but I know what deodorant is, so what’s good, Lee?” Jaemin raises his hands, shrugging as he teases Jeno. Getting a solid punch in the shoulder is worth the look of abject betrayal on Jeno’s face and the cackle that Chenle lets out as he leaves the training room. 

Even long after both Jeno and Chenle have left, Jaemin doesn’t go back to the living room. He and Donghyuck will have time to catch up later, but right now everything that was going through his mind before his little nap with Jisung has made an unnecessary and uncalled for reappearance. 

Regarding the chandelier incident: Jaemin doesn’t know exactly what to do, but at this point they might as well just leave the bullet holes and knives in the walls and call it an artistic addition to the ambiance. He’s sure Renjun would approve, and it’s not like any of them really have a burning desire to fix any of that, so they’ll probably just push off any repairs until something really does fall apart. Hopefully it won’t matter, though. Hopefully they won’t be here much longer. It’s already been almost three months, and Jaemin doesn’t know how much longer they’ll be allowed to sit still — not like any of them particularly _want_ to.

He paces around the perimeter of the training room, his thoughts wandering.

It’s hard to make sense of what he’s thinking, everything moving too fast and too slow all at once, but everything leads back to a shout of agony, flames higher than the treetops, a lost home. Jaemin has to stop all of a sudden, resting his forehead against the cool brick of the training room wall, his heart rate erratic and breathing stuttered.

The panic is nothing new, but Jaemin resents it no less. He’s supposed to have this under control, be a strong face for the rest of them when they can’t hold it together. It’s a small victory that he’s alone this time when it happens, no one else present to watch him grip reality with slippery fingers, barely holding on as unpleasant memories try to wash him away.

“Jaem?” There’s a voice. A familiar face. One he hasn’t seen in a long time, smiling, extending a hand. “Let’s get you up.”

“What?” Jaemin murmurs.

“I said, let’s get you up,” the voice comes again, but it’s different this time. Jaemin blinks hard. Once, twice, and the hazy visage fades away to Jisung crouching over him, holding out a hand. He didn’t even realize he’d slid to the floor. Nodding slowly, he accepts the hand and lets Jisung pull him up. “We can talk about this later.” He doesn’t leave it open for discussion, so Jaemin changes the subject.

“Are Chenle and Jeno back down?” he asks, brushing off his pants as he tries to subtly regain his bearings.

“Yeah, have been for a few minutes. Meeting in two. Donghyuck wants you out there.” Jisung doesn’t offer anything else besides a gentle squeeze on his shoulder before he slips out of the training room without another word.

Jaemin can’t make sense of that boy for the life of him.

It’s not something he can afford to distract himself with now, though. There are much more important things to be concerned with, like how if Jaemin isn’t in the living room in thirty seconds, Donghyuck might drag him out there himself. The thought makes him smile a bit to himself before he makes his way out of the room and around the corner to see everyone else already congregated in the living room, spread out in various positions.

Jeno has his glasses on, hunched over a newspaper with a pencil, hair still wet. Renjun’s laying on the floor, starfished and flipping a knife in the air absently. Chenle paces the length of hardwood flooring behind the couch that Donghyuck and Jisung are on, doing a terrible job of hiding how much he wants to say something about the chess game.

Jaemin doesn’t draw attention to himself when he approaches, simply sinking into his favorite armchair on the side of the room as he surveys the others. It’s one of his favorite spots in the whole place, if he’s being honest, and it’s mostly because it gets this perfect little spot of sunshine across it for most of the afternoon, making it an ideal napping place. It makes sense now why Renjun often draws the comparison between him and a cat.

Now that he’s not alone, his thoughts are pushed back into the depths of his mind, making room for analyzing everything going on in front of him at the forefront. Nothing’s ever quiet for too long with all six of them together in a room.

“So… how’d the mission go?” Chenle asks, unknowingly proving Jaemin’s point as he leans over the back of the couch to peer closer at the game of chess between Donghyuck and Renjun. He whispers something in Donghyuck’s ear that makes him hum and raise an eyebrow, before nodding slowly. Chenle’s always been a great strategist.

“Successful,” Donghyuck says simply before moving one of his rooks to take one of Renjun’s knights.

Renjun twitches at that answer — or maybe it was the loss of his knight, Jaemin can’t be sure — sending Donghyuck a scathing look that he clearly doesn’t catch. Jaemin can only assume that Renjun’ll pry more information out of Donghyuck later. 

“As always,” Jeno comments lightly before turning his attention back to his crossword puzzle like the old man he is on the inside. He’s not even the oldest out of the boys in the room — that title is reserved for Renjun who turned 23 the other week, and although Jeno’s 23rd is coming up shortly, Renjun never lets them forget who is oldest. Even Donghyuck, the senior agent of DREAM, indulges him on that, nothing other than amusement present when they inevitably find their way back to the subject every once in a while.

Mark would be 23, turning 24 in the summertime. Jaemin grimaces at the thought, earning him an odd look from Chenle. He just shakes his head. Chenle gives him a final glance that tells Jaemin he’s only letting this go temporarily before turning his attention back to the chess match.Jisung is being oddly cuddly with Donghyuck, and Donghyuck is being oddly tolerant of it. Jisung’s chest is pressed against Donghyuck’s back, arms slung lazily around his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder. It’s reminiscent of the same position he was in with Jaemin just minutes ago when waking up, but now’s not the time to worry about that. They both probably need a little more affection anyway, and they’re best suited to give it to each other.

Jaemin isn’t bitter. Just concerned. He keeps his eyes elsewhere.

It doesn’t last for too long because there’s a loud beeping sound just then, signifying an incoming call, and everyone leaps up to their feet, ready to greet Arthur. After a moment, his form flickers onto the unnecessarily large screen at the front of the room, the curtains closing automatically to block out any view from outside.

“My dear DREAM,” he begins, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. “Now that Sir Gawain has returned from his most recent outing on my behalf, I can address this growing problem with you all.”

He presses a button, and pictures of people and files begin to pop up onto the screen next to him. 

“There’s an organization that’s been targeting Kingsman agents, and although they have yet to be successful in their endeavors, it is still an understandably large threat. We aren’t sure how long they’ve been around or if there are any ulterior motives for their attempts, but they have to be stopped at all costs.” Arthur sounds uncharacteristically concerned, already far outside his perpetually collected demeanor. This has to be serious. “With what intel we’ve been able to gather, the syndicate is much bigger than expected, and it looks as if they’ll stop at nothing until they achieve their ultimate goal, which we are not yet certain of.”

“Are they looking to kill or kidnap?” Jeno asks.

“They’ve shown no other intention than to go for the kill. Treat it as such.”

“Why us?” Donghyuck speaks up, his unrelenting need to question Arthur’s decisions and authority rearing up once again. “Why choose us for this mission?”

“You’re the only group that operates under Kingsmen. This isn’t a one-person job, and I’d only trust something of this calibre and severity to the six of you to handle together.”

“Instructions on how to proceed when we encounter a syndicate member?” Jeno pointedly directs the conversation in a more useful direction.

“Survivors aren’t recommended,” he dismisses with a vague wave of his hand.

The atmosphere in the room grows a little heavier, but everyone seems to be in consensus: protect their own at all costs. Donghyuck looks back, receiving a nod from each of them in turn to confirm their status before turning back to Arthur, waiting patiently on the screen still.

“On behalf of DREAM, I declare our acceptance of this mission.”

It’s been a long time since those words have been spoken.

“Good.”

Arthur, either uncaring or simply unseeing of the change in mood of his agents, picks up a heavy file from the desk in front of him, sliding it off to the side so he can see the one beneath it. He nods to himself once, terse, then speaks to them again.

“There’s another piece of news that has arrived.” He taps on the file in front of him, hesitating just enough so Jaemin can see it before continuing as if he never stopped. “You might find it in your best interest to sit down for this one.”

A confused glance is passed around between them, unsure of what to make of Arthur’s words at first. None of them move until Donghyuck motions for them all to take a seat. No one relaxes, though, everyone on the edge of the surface they’re perched on, leaning forward intently. Jaemin tries his best not to look when he sees Jisung detach himself from Donghyuck out of the corner of his eye, finding a seat on the arm of the couch instead. Donghyuck is left front and center, only the half-finished chess game sitting between him and Arthur.

Jaemin exchanges a small smile with Jisung before they turn their attention back to the screen. Clearly, none of them know what to expect from this.

“Well…?” Donghyuck prompts, tilting his head to the side. He’s sizing up Arthur through a video call in only a way that he can pull off. “What is it?”

“I debated with if or when I should reveal this information to you, but I’m sure you would’ve figured it out sooner versus later and come up with questions for me anyway,” he starts. It’s not hard to tell that he’s delaying telling them. A simple tactic, one that Jaemin often uses to get out of doing chores. It doesn’t take much longer for him to spit it out, though. “We have received intelligence that an agent previously presumed dead has turned up alive.”

“A Kingsman agent?” Chenle pipes up, incredulous. “How would that have happened?”

“Yes, they're a former Kingsman agent,” Arthur confirms. Another delay, using vague pronouns instead of getting to the point. It makes Jaemin wonder how scared Arthur must be of this.

“Who is it?” Donghyuck looks about ready to throw one of the chess pieces at the screen if Arthur doesn’t get on with it.

“Former Kingsman agent Mark Lee, the seventh generation of Sir Galahad, has been reported to be seen alive by multiple accounts within the past few weeks.”

All hell proceeds to break loose.

A cacophony of noises erupt within the room, ranging from Jisung falling off the arm of the couch and Chenle letting loose a string of surprised profanities in at least two languages that Jaemin can pinpoint and probably several more to Jeno leaping out of his chair and stumbling over himself out of sheer shock. It’s a good thing Jaemin had been sitting down when Arthur said that, otherwise he might’ve fallen over.

Renjun is oddly quiet, focused on something near the front of the room, and Donghyuck has yet to move, his grip white-knuckled on the cushion of the sofa, eyes never moving from Arthur. Jaemin can’t spare much more of his attention to them because he’s already up on his own feet, yelling out his own exclamations.

“Are you sure?”

“How do you know?”

“What was the intelligence?”

“Where was he last seen?”

“Where is he now?”

A series of questions fire from Jaemin and Jeno, switching back and forth as they try and pry what information they can from the leader of the Kingsman. Jaemin’s mind is both brimming with thoughts and theories yet absolutely blank at the same time, working himself so far into overdrive that he can’t think anymore.

Donghyuck stands slowly, holding up his hand to silence the room.

Much to Jaemin’s surprise, it actually works.

“Yes, Sir Gawain?” Arthur addresses him, eyebrow raised curiously.

“Why are you telling us this?” he asks, voice eerily calm, almost _too_ measured. Then it hits Jaemin. Donghyuck’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s still more to this.

“Because he’s a wild card out there. We don’t know where he’s been or who he’s told what he knows, but as of right now, he’s a danger to us, to the Kingsman agency as a whole,” Arthur explains, matter-of-fact. It’s a little patronizing; something about it just rubs Jaemin the wrong way. “Your second mission is to find him and bring him back, or eliminate him should he become a threat. He cannot be left as a loose cannon.”

There’s a moment of baited tension. No one moves, no one speaks, Jaemin swears that no one even _breathes_ until Donghyuck finally speaks up again.

“Absolutely not. The mission is not accepted by DREAM. Find someone else,” Donghyuck declares with finality. “Good day, Arthur.” He promptly hangs up on the call before anyone can say anything else.

The entire world ceases to spin for a moment, Jaemin desperately trying to grasp some hold on what just happened in such a short span of time.

“What the _fuck,_ Gawain?” Jisung fumes. Jaemin’s world starts spinning again. “What the actual fuck? We just found out Mark’s _alive?_ After years of being devastated by the loss of him? And now you’re saying no to Arthur and no to Mark? What’s your third strike going to be? Saying no to the entire fucking cosmos?” Jisung is angry in a way that Jaemin’s never seen him before.

Donghyuck calmly faces them all, his face carefully blank. 

“Being a Kingsman is about doing things for the greater good,” he replies. Jaemin loathes how even his voice is when it’s normally filled with so much emotion — it makes him wonder how many of the emotions he’s feeling he’s hiding not only from the rest of DREAM, but from himself as well. “Finding _him_ is not benefiting the greater good. We have an entire syndicate to take down. Focus on the mission at hand. Meeting dismissed.”

With no more than that, Donghyuck leaves the room. No one bothers to stop him. Jaemin doesn’t turn to see where he goes. He’s still staring open-mouthed at where Donghyuck had been standing not seconds earlier, trying to process it.

“What the fuck just happened?” Chenle asks aloud. No one gives him an answer because no one else knows.

“So are we really just… _not_ going to look for Mark? After all this time and all we’ve been through?”

“We can’t disobey a direct order from him,” Jeno advises. “Like it or not, he’s our senior agent and we have to listen to him.”

“But…” Jisung starts, holding up a finger. He’s still angry, but it’s no longer clouding his eyes.

“But what?” Jaemin prompts, eager to hear what he has to say.

“But who says Donghyuck has to _know_ if we search for him?” Jisung looks around at them, gaze searching all their faces to gauge how they’re reacting to his idea. “We don’t necessarily have to accept the mission to do our own searching, right?”

“You scheming little bastard,” Jaemin breathes out, gathering every bit of affection he can muster and shoving it all into his voice as he breaks out into a grin. “That’s brilliant.”

Renjun and Chenle are quick to voice their assent and hop on board, but Jeno’s been curiously quiet. They all look over to where Jeno’s now leaning against the wall, hand on his chin in thought.

“So you’re suggesting that we go behind Donghyuck’s back to do this?” Jeno looks at them, uncertain. “He’s going to figure out what we’re doing sooner versus later, and that’s assuming he hasn’t already. He may be stubborn, but he’s by no means stupid.”

“Then we just have to find Mark before Donghyuck finds out about us then, don’t we?” Renjun claps his hands together, smile just a bit unnerving. “If anyone finds anything, we congregate as a group, just the five of us, and we’ll figure out how to proceed together.”

“So are you in?” Jaemin asks, meeting Jeno’s gaze. 

“For Mark?” Jeno smiles. “Always.”

“We lost him once,” Jisung starts, eyes burning with determination. “I’m not letting us lose him again.”

♦♘♦

**Jeno** wants to smash his head onto his keyboard. Repeatedly.

Even with all of the information that Arthur passed along to them about 127, he’s having much more difficulty finding anything of use within the thousands upon thousands of megabytes of data than he anticipated. There’s no clear starting point, no set place where he should begin looking because he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to be looking _for._ It’s a hunt for a needle in a haystack but the needle is actually on the other side of the world in a completely different haystack — or at least that’s what it feels like.

The mess of information seems impossible to sort through, and Jeno can only wonder at how long they must’ve been collecting information on 127 in order to have this much. Something pricks at the back of his mind at that, but he pushes it away in favor of opening up a new file to look through.

Even Donghyuck — notorious for having the worst sleep schedule among them — has just retired for the night, giving Jeno a tired pat on the shoulder before leaving him alone in the computer room. He’d been helping Jeno out however he could, going through some of the files on his own computer and taking out what information might be important for later, but when his eyes started drooping, Jeno sent him straight off to bed.

His only company left is a now-cooled mug of tea that Renjun made him hours earlier before he retired. It’s still Renjun’s tea, though, so it’s never _not_ the best thing ever, regardless of temperature.

There’s been a disturbing lack of progress so far, and Jeno can’t help but feel annoyed at himself. He’s not out of practice by any stretch of the mind — he’d been accepting little tasks from Arthur on the side without Donghyuck knowing to make sure he kept his skills sharp. In fact, all of them have been doing missions on-and-off for the past three years, trying to gauge their recovery in the form of testing the delicate balance of staying sane and staying in practice. Donghyuck has always just been a little too caught up in his own emotional turmoil to realize, but Jeno doesn’t mind. None of them do. 

Every one of them has their own strengths and weaknesses, their own ways of going about missions and coping with the aftermath. Jeno’s just glad Donghyuck is done destroying himself out of guilt, or so he hopes. All they can do now is wait and see what happens.

It’s still the first day they’ve been given a mission as a whole group in three years, and Jeno objectively knows that no one’s going to fault him for not making too much progress yet, especially because the case is so extensive. That doesn’t stop the looming threat that these people literally hunt down the Kingsman knights, and it makes Jeno push himself harder than he strictly has to.

Regardless of Mark maybe still being alive after all this time, Jeno refuses to lose a second teammate, permanently or not. DREAM barely survived it once, and Jeno’s not so sure they’d last a second time through the wringer.

It’s not until it’s edging the cusp of dawn that Jeno has a breakthrough, but it doesn’t come in the form he was expecting.

Jeno found his way to a secured platform that might have a connection to 127, merely based off of a few clues he’d found from a handful of the files he’d scoured through earlier. Whoever designed the encryption for it must’ve spent an extraneous amount of time on it. They closed every possible loophole and set up a firewall so secure, that even with Jeno’s decades of expertise with computers, it would take him days by the looks of it — if not _weeks_ — to crack his way through it under the radar.

The breakthrough hides within the lines of code he combs his way through carefully, squinting behind his glasses because his contacts had gotten itchy sometime a little past midnight.

Something odd jumps out at him as he looks through everything, and he stops abruptly. It’s not odd in the sense that it’s out of place, but its familiarity is what strikes him first. The second thing to strike him nearly knocks him out of his chair when his tired brain makes the connection of why it seems so familiar, the breath squeezed right out of his lungs.

Jeno takes off his glasses, wipes them, and shakily puts them back on to peer at it again, just to make sure he’s seen everything correctly.

He has.

It’s still there, just the same: four lines that toppled Jeno’s world in on itself.

“Holy shit,” he breathes quietly. The first birds begin to chirp outside.

He needs to wake up the others — they need to see this.

⬨♞⬨

**Someone** wakes up. Head still throbbing with that incessant headache, some unknown word lodged in their throat. It’s hard to breathe for a moment.

Another nightmare — this one more lucid than the last. They’ve started to become somewhat of a common occurrence, which is realized with no small amount of chagrin, appearing once or twice a week instead of a few times a year.

They wonder absently if they should tell the others, let them know what’s going on. They can’t, though. It might raise suspicion, possibly leading to years of progress becoming unraveled with just a few words.

No, they can’t afford that.

Instead, they settle back into their bed, shutting their eyes despite knowing that sleep won’t come for the rest of the night. Not with the anticipation of a certain mission on their mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: don't jump to conclusions too quickly... things might not be what they seem at first glance :)
> 
> ON THE OTHER HAND WOAHHHH GUYS THE SUPPORT THIS FIC HAS ALREADY RECEIVED IS ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE being able to write this is honestly so much fun and it means so much to me that you like it too!!! 
> 
> lots & lots of love from me and anca!!!
> 
> [props to you if you caught the unintentional FRIENDS reference in the scene with hyuck and jisung ahaha]

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on my socials about anything <3
> 
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> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/baridalive)  
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